Magazine Posts

There is so much futility;
You don't have the ability
Nor the tool for tranquility
And all become a liability,
Charging to an old utility,
Bringing you back to reality,
Resulting in the end. Finality

What is there to say?
What is there to do,
For each and every day
I lose more of you.

I fear not of death on this day,
for it would mean I've gone away.
I would no longer miss my friends
nor hear the words and Amen.

It is almost five am.
What is wrong with me?
I have been up,
since half past three.
Words pop into my brain,
falling like Summer rain.
If I don't write them down,
they will no longer be found,
for they disappear like raindrops do
and then I can't share them with you.

Who is to blame?
Only time will tell
if you now have
a space reserved in Hell.

It appears you have succeeded
to isolate this Country from the World,
when the citizens are not welcome
to travel to other countries.
Nice plan.

If I couldn't hear.
If I couldn't see,
Would I understand
What is wrong with thee?

I sense the air. It's a new smell.
Is it the fear of losing the election?
It is now very hard to tell.
Running scared, will do that too,
no matter how trying it is to you.
You are a loser, POTUS, Donald Trump,
full of hot air and quite the chump.
You have a mess; you really do.
A piece of work; all about you.

Now for my final act
In this political life dear,
I'll go to the ballot box
And I will disappear

It may not be the virus,
I cannot see,
but it may be
the visible enemy.
I believe that is you,
POTUS or Don John,
Public Enemy, number one.

Federal troops,
Brown shirts to me,
violating the citizens
Constitutionality.

With your shoulders
make them shrug,
for now you behave
like a big time thug.

A crooked smile,
an offset grin.
Who knows what
she saw in him.
His eyes so blue,
a light from within,
covers the scars,
of a skin so thin.
His hair was long,
thick not thin;
a voice so rough,
where do I begin
to explain the joy
of a new found friend.

Ahh, Summer in Redmond town,
now that the Sun has settled.
We are on the deck. It's nine pm
and quite pleasant.
Almost ninety today, the temp.
not my age, but is now seventy-five.
Sitting with my lovely wife, Ms. Ellie,
listening to her favorite, Neil Diamond,
"Coming to America" album .
It is said that "music soothes the Beast
within". Perhaps so. In any event it is
gratifying to see the enjoyment on her
face as she listens to her favorite.
Oh the sweet pleasures of this life we
live. We must take and enjoy, as time allows.
You cannot capture our yesterdays,
unless in a song.